Palladium Devotion
by Betwixted and Bewitched
Summary: Part One of Five Kichōna Kiseki Installments; A series of oneshots following Akashi Seijūrō through adulthood, his marriage and his foray into unknown territory: fatherhood. Can the world handle an Akashi supported by love? Well, can an Akashi survive a woman so captivating as Yurie? Only time will tell. M for naughty thoughts
1. Part One

_Author's Introduction:_

Hullo one and all! This is an idea that's been in the making for a long time. Hope you all enjoy!

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 _ **& & Palladium Devotion &&**_

 _& & Part One &&_

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If there was one thing Akashi Seijūrō had learned about being the head of a family and the president of a nationwide conglomerate, it was that time became a tool, a weapon and a chasm. Taking one last look at his desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose and stood with a flourish. A glance at the clock ripped a sigh from his chest before he could restrain it, and he pulled at the tie around his neck. Walking to the door of his home office, he turned off the light and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.

Holding his suit jacket over one arm, he pulled the glasses from his face and folded them. He crept silently into his private quarters, where he found Yurie curled towards his side of the bed, and laid his things on a nearby chair. Then, the tired and aching man walked to the bedside cradling his wife, and he let his gaze trail over her slumbering features like a man straight out of the desert staring into his reflection in a river.

Moments like this were rare. She was often always up hours before him and, having prepared his clothes and meal for the day, would be well on her way to her part time job as dance instructor at the school of competitive dance she had once attended herself. He could remember every time he had been allowed to just slow down and watch her.

She was soft and warm in the best of ways, righteous and diligent with the best of them, deep and boundless like the ocean, and she was everything beautiful wrapped into one delicate frame. Oh, she could be a spitfire when she choose to be, had a mischief streak about a mile and a half wider than the Great Canyon was long, and she tended to forget the world when something snagged her interest. Yet her flaws only complemented his own, soothing out the sharpness of his corners, and she made the harshness of the sun he embodied bearable.

Now, her long hair spilled out atop the sheets around her in the mimicry of a dark halo, and he sat lightly on the edge of the mattress. His fingers found her face and he brushed aside some of her hair with the back of a knuckle, resting it afterward on her cheek. He tucked each and every sensation into the corners of his heart like a dragon hoarding rhinestones.

She was his synchronized reflection, his perfect offset, the final piece he never knew he needed. For as long as he could remember, he had always been able to silence a room with a single _look_ , but she could throw his entire world off its axis with just a smile, and she was comically unaware of it. Like she did not even know what she could do to him—like she did not know she could literally make or break him.

Her long lashes chose then to flit against his fingertips. Seijūrō turned thoughtful, haunted eyes down to the sleepy pools of love reflecting off of hers, and he was once more reminded. Reminded of just how stunning and breathtaking her eyes were; cream and sugar spun with silk and gold, a bright amber honey coated in caramel and chocolate. They never failed to make him wish he could sink right into her soul, knowing without a doubt that he would be perfectly at home there.

Yurie lifted a hand to her face, laying it over his, and her lips curved into a tired smile. "Seijūrō?" she murmured into his hand even as she nestled closer to the warmth his body provided, "what time is it?"

He twisted his hand in her hold so his palm was pressed to her cheek, and he gently caressed her skin with his thumb. Her eyes drifted shut at the ministration and he smiled. His fingers dropped to a length of her loose hair and he fondly wove it around his index finger, "Sorry for waking you."

"No, no," she shook her head in quick acceptance of the apology, "it's fine. I had meant to wait for you anyway." The avoidance of her question did not escape her, however, and she lifted dark eyes filled with sudden alertness and concern. Swiveling to gather her legs under her, Yurie sat up on her knees beside him and stretched her small hands over his shoulders. "Seijūrō," she murmured softly at the impassive look on his face and rested her cheek against his shoulder, tucking her face against his throat, "Sei, love, what's wrong?"

He would rather rip his own heart from his chest than worry her, but he knew that if he dared withhold it all, she would only seek her answers elsewhere. He lifted the hand wound in her hair to his lips and let it fall loosely back to her side. "It is nothing I cannot handle," he finally settled upon, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

Yurie smiled sorrowfully at the emotions racing behind his blank expression, and she lifted her hands to his face. Holding his jaw reverently in her palms, she searched his downward facing countenance for the signs of his pain and said in a soft, breathless sigh, "Oh, Seijūrō." She ran her long nails against his cheekbones and stretched her torso up to kiss his jaw, "Won't you tell me?"

He lifted her face and allowed himself but a moment to drown in her eyes. Looking away, he relented, "One of the interns is a little. . . delirious is all." He kept the rest of it tucked away into silence. The last straw had been the very strange poem that sounded oddly like a proposal on the latest bout of paperwork.

"Do I need to come to the office?" Yurie broke his reverie with her low question, her eyes dark with a protective quality. She always took his breath away when she got like this, when she gave him proof that she was not a faultless entity. That she, too, had a streak of stubborn pride bordering on possession just like his. It certainly would not be the first time she had been called in, if for the sole purprose of reaffirming that yes, he _was_ married and quite _happily_ so.

He lowered his hands to her lower back and stretched his hands against the curve of her hips. For a moment, he honestly considered it; the vindictive part of himself wanted nothing more than to show the world just how perfect she was for him. The larger, more sadistic half had other plans, however, so he shook his head. "No, I shall have it resolved by tomorrow afternoon," he promised solemnly into the night.

"Very well," she dipped her head at his decision but refused to submit to his decree, "I shall be called if the situation persists?" He looked deep into the steel resolve in her eyes and knew she would appear regardless of his permission if she so much as suspected its continuation. So he bowed out of that argument with a graceful, dismissive nod. She smiled at him and leaned further into his embrace, "Now, what else is bothering you?" Her slick fingers ran over his arms and keenly catalogued the cords of tension in his muscles, "You would be under the covers with me already if all else was well."

"Nothing," he announced with little room for argument, "It is but a matter of accumulated stress. I have not managed a day off for little over three months, I think it is about time."

Yurie pulled away from him, and he watched her fall back against her pillows. Her hair flowed up on either side of her and she opened her arms, eyes glittering gold in the backlight, "Come here, then, and let me hold you. Let me take care of you for once, Seijūrō."

He stared impassively for some time, body frozen and heart beating faster with every breath. His mind, though, was blissfully numb and he leaned forward. He pushed his weight into a knee he placed against the mattress' edge and loomed over her. "You are much too good to me," he whispered in the stagnant air. He slid an arm under her waist and pulled her towards him, laying her flat against the bed without the pillows to sit her up. Her hair fluttered up in the corner of his vision, glittering like strands of midnight tinsel, and he opened her thighs on either side of his own to pull her closer.

Pulling the tie still around his neck free, he laid it across her eyes and quickly tied it behind her head, dipping to demand in her ear, "Say it again."

He could see her restrain the shiver his infliction had evoked, and she uttered on a gasp, "Seijūrō?" Her eyes flickered against the brilliant red of his tie but their room was dark and the moonlight was streaming in from behind her. She could not see beyond its threads but could feel the chill of his hands reaching for her, playing with each nerve like the master of an instrument.

"Shh," his lips ghosted against her throat, soothing a spot in the dip of her collar. Then his tongue laved a faint bruise into her flesh and his elusive fingers slid under the hem of her dress. She wondered, briefly, of his intentions but he replied to the unasked thought with ease, "Not tonight." Having said so, he could still feel his tenacious grip on his self-control begin to wither at her every reaction to him.

She was most beautiful like this, with her hair splayed behind her, skin aglow with faint light, pink mouth parted with every breath, and her expression lost at her inability to see but so trusting in his hands. This, _this_ , was why he only ever felt steady when he stood above, beside, beneath, behind or before her. This was one of the reasons why he loved her so intensely.

And loved her, he did. Though sometimes, he wondered if that was enough. He did not say it often, his upbringing having seen to that, but she never seemed to be bothered by it. He liked to think she could feel it every time he held her, liked to imagine she could read his heart as well as she could read his mind.

"Seijūrō," the ribbons of her voice interrupted his line of thought, again, and he realized she had felt his reaction to having her warm body flush against his own, "Are you sure you don't want me to . . . ?"

He smiled softly into her shoulder, kissed her there, and pulled her closer still. Rocking down against her, he purred against her warm throat, voice deeper by decibels, "No. No, I just need to hold you." With that, he banished all lust bound thoughts and laid his hands flat against her thighs. His fingers dipped beneath the hem of her sleeping dress and he hefted it higher with every inch of skin sliding against skin.

Her hands landed on his shoulders as his fingers reached the dip and swell of her hip, and he could feel the deceptive strength in them as she pulled him down. Their lips collided in a spark of teeth and tongue, and she held him there with her surprisingly strong arms wrapped about his neck. Her grip shifted to his biceps when he lifted partially away from her. "Seijūrō?" she asked airily, but did not resist when he pulled her arms above her head and held them there by the wrists.

"It's a matter of control," he commanded regally before she could demand an answer, tone low but stolid, "And tonight I need yours." He felt himself fall for her all over again when she went boneless in his grasp. Her body relaxed against his before he had even finished the sentence, and a demented smile slipped over his face. He was glad he had foreseen it and blinded her for the time being. Despite the crazed lust for her, his hands were gentle and smooth when he coaxed her into his orbit.

A flash of white on her hand caught his eye and he stared owlishly at the ring. Some days he pondered whether she knew what kind of man she had married, if she knew what kind of shattered he was. She was always so inexplicably _there_ whenever he needed her and even when he only _wanted_ her. He knew, in all senses of the matter, she deserved better than him, better than she currently had.

She had to have known, he decided, she had probably seen it the first day they had met. She had been so terrified back then, but now he wondered if it had been _for_ him rather than _of_ him. Besides, he considered while he pushed her further into the mattress and held her there with the weight of his own body, Akashi Seijūrō was far too selfish of a man to let her go now that he had gotten ahold of her once.

&& _White for Integrity, Red for Intensity, Gold for Ingenuity; Hath the King finally found his Lady? &&_

 _ **& & Palladium Devotion &&**_

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 _Thank you all for reading. I really do appreciate you all. If you feel up to sharing what you think, it would be most welcome and kindly received._

~ Betwixted and Bewitched


	2. Part Two

_Author's Introduction:_

Here is part two! Progression might be a bit slow, but this is a rather laid back couple. Just wait until the second installment of Kichōna Kiseki. . . Aomine is _noisy_ in comparison. Hope you enjoy.

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 _ **& & Palladium Devotion &&**_

 _& & Part One &&_

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Akashi Seijūrō was one of the point-two percentage of geniuses that had graced the face of the Earth with their birth. His mind was brilliant and sharp, and he kept himself poised and expertly impassive at all times. It was obvious, to those around him, that he had been born— _designed; fashioned; created; made—_ to stand above others. There was no hope of every catching up to him, of overtaking his progress, or even reaching the bottom dredges of his level.

Some argued there was genius and then there was _Akashi_ who stood so far above and beyond tensai; that calling him a genius was like saying the Eiffel Tower was made of toothpicks. There was such a drastic difference in their levels that jealousy did not, and could not, factor into how people saw him. After all, what good would it do to envy the man that even the laws of nature bowed to? Gravity itself had wavered and redefined itself, more than once, simply because he _demanded_ it.

None who worked with him, or for him, would ask "how high?" when he commanded them to jump; partially for fear of sacrilege and partially for fear of the response. No, instead, they just leaped off whatever blind cliff he told them to and hoped—others prayed to the high heavens, others still cursed his name to the depths of hell—that it would be sufficient. It rarely ever was; he held people to too high a standard for them to keep up with, deadlines far too short for them to ever hope of meeting, and had them bending over backwards in various contortionist shapes just to get things done.

However, even his critics could not deny that his method worked. He overwhelmed them with too much information and too little instruction, and sent them out to do their job. He had mentioned once in an interview that: "I hired them to do their job, and I trust them to do their job. If I ever felt I had to tell them how to do it, they would not be doing their job. I would be, and that defeats the point of delegation."

There simply were no secrets in his presence, his very eyes drew them out of the soul, not that there ever were reason to need such a talent. He had given them freedom and a place to stretch their wings, a temporary home and a makeshift family to find their nook in. He gave them _trust_ , and when a man as absolute as Akashi gave someone _trust_ , one did not just spit in it.

He did everything with an expressionless intensity that made people stronger somehow, made them stand taller, straighter, be prouder, work harder. People listened when he spoke because he had all the charisma of a revolution wrapped up in his pinkie finger. They obeyed, however, because he was a truth that resonated in both mind and body. When asked, his subordinates would shrug and say, "There comes a point where you go 'Oh, it's _Akashi'_ and the world makes a twisted sort of sense again."

People like us tended to put individuals like him on a pedestal of adoration and idolization; made the mistake of making his achievements an indicator of who he was rather than what he had done. The Akashi CEO was no god. Nor did he try to delude himself into thinking he was such. He was only human and, though perhaps a gifted one, _only_ human. In fact, he was somewhat broken too. When people could not put aside their idealistic visions and see beyond his name, he was left with the soul searing ache of loneliness. Being at the top, even by accident, was a lonely existence.

Very few had ever even tried, and even fewer still knew of the man behind Akashi—of _Seijūrō_. He could count those that did on his two hands. They, at least, knew he sometimes needed to separate himself from the rest of the world. They knew that when Akashi slipped away and Seijūrō made his appearance that he needed a quite space to lay his head down, rest his mind, and let the whole wide world just _be_ without him for a bit.

Yurie knew all of this, like the back of her hand and the black of her hair, and not a day went by that she did not feel so incredibly blessed to be counted among those few. The man who could feasibly hold the fate of an entire planet in his palm chose to humble himself before her and allow himself a few moments of fragility and vulnerability. So, on the days he _needed_ but could not put a name on what, she sat on their porch with her feet curled neatly under her and let him rest his head in her lap.

Casting her fingers through the fine hairs against his forehead, Yurie's eyes carved the lines and dips of his slumbering face into her memory. He was handsome in the exotic sense, and his jaw was cut in a way she had only seen before in foreigners. Though strangely _different_ , he was so alarmingly beautiful inside and out that, sometimes, just seeing his face was enough to make her heart beat faster.

Just as her thoughts turned down that road, his breath tickled the back of her hand and she leaned over him to pick a round cup from the tray before her knees laden with kettle, cream pitcher, and sugar pot. Her fingers slid around and under the teacup and she lifted it to her mouth, blowing softly at the silver steam rising from its surface. Returning one hand to his hair, she turned her eyes to the scarlet sunset just barely visible over the line of her garden fence. She sipped her tea with fond nostalgia and took the moment to enjoy the permeable silence that hung over them.

The two sat on the back porch of the Akashi palace, an architectural masterpiece modeled after the Sengoku period's castle cities. The patio extended on either side into a veranda which circled around the entire building, but here opened into a large inner courtyard garden. The distant walls were lined with white blossoms, and radiant tiger lilies, which never failed to remind her of her lover, grew wild around the conservative pond just further south.

Soon, the clock tolled six and she laid her cup back in its place. As much as she loathed to interrupt his much needed sleep, she knew his work was never done and that he would never forgive her for letting him sleep through the afternoon. Their cherished reprieve would need to be cut short. With a sigh, she covered the lower half of her face with the wide sleeve of her kimono and lowered the hand in his hair to rest against his cheek. She studied his restful posture for a moment longer, wistfully clinging to the quiet, then gently coaxed, "Seijūrō, it is time."

No more needed pass her lips. A larger hand closed around her wrist just as soon as her mouth closed after the final syllable, and red and gold peered up at her face from under crimson lashes. He brought her captured hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the vein on the inside of her wrist, never shifting his gaze from hers.

Ensnared by the look in his eyes, she froze in surprise for half a second then a breath taking smile lit up her entire face and she lowered her other hand to hold aside his overhanging fringe. Bent in a bow, she kissed his temple, lips lingering slightly longer than required, and she lifted her head to smile at him.

He reached out with his free arm and slid his fingers through the hairs on the back of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. The tickle of his nails threatened to chase it, but he instead urged her forward and down. Halfway, he stretched up to meet her and kissed the corner of her mouth.

Time was so very precious for him, for them, and sometimes she wished clocks would cease to exist and that the world could shrink down to just for two. Then she remembered how much more precious it made the time spent together, and that made the time apart tolerable. Still, she desired but a few more minutes with him so she shifted against his touch and returned the kiss against his own.

Seijūrō released her then and sat up at her side instead. Assuming seiza as she had been all along, he lifted a steaming cup from the tray and, for a short while, the two drank their afternoon tea in companionable silence. By the time both cups lay empty at their knees, there was a mutual understanding in the air that it was beyond time for him to go.

Turning his face to her, he studied the faint disappointment in her expression and lifted her face with a nudge of his hand beneath her chin. Forcing her to look him in the eye, he sighed at the sorrow he found there and ran his thumb along her heat-reddened lips. Then he bent and their lips slotted together in a breathless union. Despite, or perhaps because of, the urgency of time, it did not take either long to become lost in the sensations of the other.

The grandfather clock behind them chimed again with the five minutes past, and it brought her back to her senses with all the rush of a train coming to a stop from full speed. She rested a hand on his arm and broke the not quite chaste kiss, the touch both calling for him to go and for him to never leave. She looked down at her side with a shy smile, and he returned it faintly. Then she lifted deft hands to fix the knot of his tie and she busied herself with dusting his shoulders and straightening his shirt. She only leaned back once she had nothing more to do, and wrung her hands in her lap.

He laid a hand over hers and kissed her forehead, lowering to press one just below her ear. There he whispered as he felt her hands go skill, "Oyasumi, Yurie." He slipped her left hand out from the other and rotated the white-silver band on her finger so its diamond stones were centered upward once more, glittering in the overhead light. He kissed her knuckle just below it and rose to his feet, pulling her up with him.

She gave him a sakura colored smile and wrapped her arms around him, letting her cheek rest briefly against his chest. Peering up at him through black lashes, her smile widened when he returned the embrace, and she replied in just as soft a voice, "Come to bed before dawn?"

He did not disagree, but the _"no promises"_ was implied in his brief smile and furrow of his brow. Holding her against him, he inhaled the scent of her hair and stepped back with steel once more in his face and spine, apathy turning his face to stone.

Graceful even in her weak disappointment, Yurie smiled at him and dipped her head in acquisition, eyes lifting just barely to watch him walk away. She then bent to set the cups on the tray and her eye caught on the palladium band on her ring finger. She twisted it once over and lifted her hand above her head to set it against the backdrop of the fiery sky. The sun's final falling rays turned the white band a radiant array of red and gold, and she smiled.

Breaking her thoughts with a clap of her hand against the floor, she lifted the tray and bounced to her feet. Hurrying in the opposite direction her husband had gone, she never heard the ghost of a petal humming on the wind.

 _& & Gold for Prosperity, White for Purity, Red for Passion; Doeth the Bride now pick her Roses? &&_

 _ **& & Palladium Devotion &&**_

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 _I am learning the romanji phonetics of Japanese, as a hobby, and it is a nasty habit of mine to incorporate it into my stories in order to speed up my comprehension and grammatical nature. For those of you unfamiliar (though I doubt many of you at all), here is a loose translation:_

 _\- Tensai: genius, prodigy_

 _\- Seiza: a traditional posture, sitting on the heels while kneeling, usually on a cushion_

 _\- Oyasumi: good night_

 _Thank you all for reading and all feedback will be most welcome and kindly received._

~ Betwixted and Bewitched


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